by J. Saman
Like my future.
“Yes,” I say as I blow out a nervous breath. I don’t want to you lose you and I’m terrified I will. “Cyber’s Law asked me to produce their next album.”
Jameson’s eyes bug out of his head. “Holy shit,” he gasps, wrapping me up in his arms so tightly I can hardly breathe. “That’s incredible, baby. I’m so happy for you.”
“They want me to start next week. In California.”
He pulls back instantly, his eyes bouncing back and forth between mine as he tries to read…I don’t even know what. “Next week?” I nod. “What about school?”
I shrug. “I’m pulling As in two of my classes. I’m sure I can work something out, and my other class is an independent music study. I think this would cover me for the credits.”
“So…you’re doing this?” He stares at me, his expression unreadable. I wish he would give me some indication of how he felt about this. Of what he’s thinking.
“I told Robert I had to talk to you first.”
Jameson stands up so abruptly that I start with the action. He walks off before turning back and marching to me, standing over me once again. His hands are running through his hair and he’s breathing hard. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do or say. I’m sort of there with him because despite how freaking elated I am about the job, this hurts.
“You have to go,” he says, and my eyes well up with tears at those words.
I don’t want to cry. I hate crying. I love Jameson for those words and I’m angry at him for those words. It makes no sense.
“This is too big to turn down.”
My face drops to my hand and my shoulders begin to shake as I swallow and sniff and try to hold it all in. Jameson drops to the ground in front of me, his knees in the grass, his hands on my thighs, his breath fanning across my hands.
“Look at me, Lyric.”
I can’t. I need a second, so I shake my head and he laughs, pulling my hands away from my face and forcing my chin to meet his eyes.
“Are you upset because of me?”
I nod. I can’t speak yet or I know I’ll lose my last shred of composure.
“When we started this, I knew things weren’t going to be pretty with us. But the moment I told you that I loved you, I knew there would come a time that I would be loving you from afar.”
A sob breaches the dam, exploding its way through my protective barrier. Now my tears are coming and I can’t stop them. They fall one after the other, running down my face and dripping off my chin.
“You’ll come back for finals?”
I nod. At least, I hope I will.
“You’re still going to Melody’s wedding?”
I roll my eyes, swallowing and wiping at my eyes that are no doubt already red and puffy and lined in watery mascara. “Of course I am.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“It didn’t last summer,” I say and then regret it. That was almost a year ago. That was another relationship ago. But it’s all I’ve thought about. I can’t help it. Every time I think about going to California, I think about how I only saw him once in four months. And spoke to him only a few times a week. Last summer had a time limit, though. It was four months. This is indefinite. Yes, Robert says he’ll try for New York, but what does that really mean? I’m scared that this separation is going to go from temporary to permanent and we won’t even see it coming in time to stop it.
“I know,” he says, his tone cautious. “And I won’t lie to you and tell you that it won’t be harder than it was then. It really might be.”
“Robert told me that he’d try to get me to New York in the next year.”
Jameson smiles, cupping my cheek and rubbing his thumb up and down, brushing away any remaining tears. “We can make it until then, right?” I can’t tell who he’s trying to convince more, me or himself.
“You’re sure about this?”
Jameson leans in, kisses me softly before dropping his forehead to mine. “Yes. This is not something I can tell you not to do, Lee. It’s not my place, but even if I did the dick move and put my foot down, you’d never forgive me. I want you happy, baby. I want you to make this album because I know you will rock it. I’m so proud of you, Lyric. We knew this was coming. It’s just sooner than expected.”
I nod. I have no idea why I’m nodding when it feels like my life is simultaneously falling apart and coming together.
I don’t want to lose you. I’m so scared I will.
I kiss Jameson like I’ve never kissed him before. Right here on the bench in front of the business building in the middle of our campus. I kiss him with everything I’ve got, because somewhere, in the back of my head, in a dark hidden part that I continue to ignore, this feels like an ending instead of a beginning. This feels like goodbye.
We love each other and we can make it through. We love each other and we can hold on.
I’ll get to New York. I’ll find a way to be with him. One year. We can make it one year.
Chapter 17
Lyric
* * *
My eyes are closed, head bowed down, chest pressed against the edge of the mixer. My fingers aren’t moving yet. I want them to play through this song without any adjustments from me. Once I hear the song, the one that they insisted on adding to the album that’s about seventy percent produced, I’ll have a better idea what we need to do for it.
“It’s rough, Lyric.” That’s what Harry, the lead vocalist had said when he introduced it. We don’t have time for rough. We’ve been working on this album for nearly five months. Five. Typically, it doesn’t take that long. Typically, I get a band to finish recording in closer to two or three, and then it takes me another month or so to finish it up and get it out.
But these guys like to change shit. A lot. They’ve already scrapped two songs—two songs that were fully recorded—and replaced them with two others that needed a ton of work. Now this new song. Oh, and Harry has to take ‘quiet time’ to write and meditate or whatever the fuck he does, for like two hours a day.
I’m starting to understand why they had creative differences with their last producer. I feel like maybe I should have called him first to talk about what happened, because Cyber’s Law is very talented, but they’re also making this newbie very stressed out. Especially when Robert continues to remind me about the December first release date he has in mind. It’s freaking September. It’s so ambitious I can’t even think about it without wanting to vomit.
But they caught me on a good day. On a day where I’m probably willing to say yes to anything. That’s how happy and excited I am. Jameson is scheduled to land at ten-thirty p.m. LA time. I cannot freaking wait. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. So. Goddamn. Long. And really, these last five months apart have been awful. So much worse than last summer.
My hours are a million times worse and I didn’t even know that was possible. Because while Harry takes his ‘mental kip’ as he calls it, I’ve been working with another artist on her solo album. She’s young. Seventeen. And has never made a solo album—she was part of some teenage girl group before branching out on her own. Her parents are great and very supportive, but this girl needs a lot of handholding.
So there’s that. That’s my baggage and it’s extensive. I won’t even lie and say it’s not.
Jameson’s baggage is not that different from mine. He works psychotic hours. His business with Cane and Travers is going well. They’re getting some clients and starting to get some cash flow coming in. But he’s also become a player in his dad’s financial company. I think his father is grooming him to take over. At least, that’s the impression Jameson has, even if his father hasn’t said as much. So that makes two full-time jobs for him.
And much like last year, I try not to get angry when we don’t talk or he cancels trips on me. I try not to let it eat at me, fester like a wound. But it does. It’s always there in the back of my mind. The ‘I knew its’ and the ‘I deserve betters’, and my personal f
avorite, ‘can’t he just try a little harder’. I hold it all back. Like a fire that can’t spread unless I open the door and allow it to breathe.
When we do talk, I don’t want to spend it fighting. So, I swallow a lot down. A lot. Because I really don’t feel like he tries all that hard. Like he expects me to be the one to give in and go to him. Or be the one to always call and text first. I’ve gone to New York three times. And in the five plus months we’ve been apart, that’s the exact amount of times I’ve seen him. He’s missed so much with me.
Like my sister’s wedding. The bastard missed her wedding. He waited until the last minute to get a flight down to Miami because of work, and then there was a big rain storm that came through the northeast and his flight was canceled. And the five other times he canceled on me because he had too much work to do.
But none of that matters right now. He’s coming tonight, and he promised me he would, and I can’t wait to see him. I feel like a part of me isn’t connected to my body when we’re not together. I need him. I miss him. It’s really that simple.
The door to the main part of the studio opens and shuts behind me. I don’t pay any attention to whomever felt the need to interrupt this moment. Callum strums the last of the chords, ending on a C chord that makes him feel like he’s a God for getting it out.
“Well?” Harry calls out, a bit impatient when I don’t immediately praise their latest and possibly greatest.
“It’s good,” I say, taking off my cans and talking into the microphone. “It is rough, as you said, but I think we can do a lot with it. The lead guitar should be acoustic, not electric. Backup can be electric, but only to complement the sound of the acoustic. I think the drums during the chorus are too heavy on the high-hat cymbal. It’s distracting. I’m feeling more of a low steady beat that harmonizes with the vocals instead of alternating with them. The bass should be on point with that.”
Harry’s nodding. The other guys nod along as they talk to each other, but I can’t hear them because I took my headphones off. I really should have them back on, but I’m mentally checked out at this point.
I put one of the headphones up to my right ear and listen as Harry says, “Right. We’ll play around with it then.” Awesome. Just what I need to hear so far behind deadline.
“Hey,” a voice says from behind me. I spin around in my chair to find Ethan, a talented production assistant and the man who has become one of my closest friends. “How’s it going?”
I sit up, rolling my head back over my shoulder to peer into the sound booth, and ensure the mic is off from my side. “It’s going,” I say, turning back to face him. “It’s a goddamn mess. This new song is going to take a lifetime to get together.”
“Well, my dear,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder in a way that would be patronizing coming from anyone else, “if anyone can figure it out, it’s you. Are you up for sushi, cocktails and manhunting with me and Cassia tonight?” He holds his hand up as I open my mouth to protest. “I know, I know, no manhunting for you.”
Cassia moved here shortly after graduation. She’s in law school at UCLA and when I introduced her to Ethan, the two of them became instant best friends, which makes the three of us best friends. I love having Cass here. It’s helped a lot and Ethan is a very welcome addition to our little duo.
“Bad day?” I ask.
“Sometimes I look forward to bad days so I can have a drink. And I refuse to think too deeply on what that means.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Fucking Ethan. “Can’t,” I say as a big grin erupts across my face. “Jameson is coming tonight.”
“Pfft,” Ethan scoffs with a dramatic roll of his eyes, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. I swear, the guy lives in the gym when he’s not here. “I’ll believe that when I see it. But if by some miracle, the man candy does come, I expect cocktails with him tomorrow night. I need to meet him.”
“We can try,” I say with a wicked gleam in my eyes and an impish grin to match.
“Oh please. No one can screw for that many hours straight without a break. You can take an hour.”
“An hour,” I promise and he laughs.
A banging on the glass of the sound booth pulls me back. “Your British invasion is waiting on you. Better get back to work before this shit takes another two months. I’m in studio eight if you need me.”
“Bye, babe,” I say and he throws me a finger wave and then he’s gone with a swoosh of the door behind him. I spin back around, put my cans back on and listen as they play it for me again, adjusting to some of the changes I’ve recommended. I haven’t even gotten to them laying down their parts separately. That takes these guys forever. I sigh, rubbing my bleary eyes. I haven’t slept in forever and with Jameson coming, it’s not going to get much better.
That has me smiling, though. It has me getting through the rest of the afternoon and the headache these guys give me. At six-thirty, we call it a day. We made some progress and I think all of us are tapped out creatively at this point. Jameson’s flight was scheduled to take off at six-thirty-six New York time and as I walk into the Malibu house that my father pretty much gave to me since he hates LA, my heartrate spikes when my phone rings with his number.
“Hello?” I answer tentatively, unsure of what this call could be since he’s supposed to be flying over the heartland right about now.
“It’s me,” he says cautiously, like he knows this call is going to throw me over the edge. I close my eyes for a second before reopening them, throwing my keys in the general direction of the entry table, followed by my purse and then I’m storming past the great room, through the long hallway to the kitchen. I wrench open my fridge, pull out a bottle of water, open the cap and chug the whole thing down. Bastard hasn’t said another thing after that pathetic two-word sentence.
Coward.
“Let me guess, you’re not coming.”
“It’s just not a good weekend.”
I throw the empty plastic bottle across the room, hating how it bounces off the wall without a loud bang or a crack in the wall.
“I tried, okay? Before you go off on me, I tried.”
“Bullshit,” spews from my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry. And hurt. I’m definitely hurt. And God, so fucking let down. “You didn’t try. If you tried, you would be on the goddamn plane instead of calling me hours after it was scheduled to take off. Did you even buy a ticket, Jameson?”
He’s quiet and that has me pacing a circle around the island of my kitchen, running my hand along the smooth marble as I go, wondering what it would feel like to put my fist through it. Would it hurt more than this hurts? Somehow, I doubt it.
“I don’t know what to say to you, Lee. I’m juggling two full-times jobs. This weekend is a big deal for our startup. I need to go to the Hamptons and meet with a potential client that could put us in the black instead of the red.”
“And Cane and Travers can’t handle that without you?”
“No. They can’t,” he snaps and I have no idea why he’s angry. Or maybe he’s just being defensive. Either way, I don’t care. I don’t want his excuses. I really don’t.
“This makes what? Five times you’ve canceled on me? Six? Am I just that unimportant to you? That low a priority?” As the words tumble from my lips, I find myself stopping my incessant pacing, my eyes staring out at nothing. It’s true. I’m not a priority for him. If I were, he’d try, just a little bit. “You’re ending this,” I say, that earthshattering realization coming down on me like an avalanche.
He sighs and that sigh has me dropping to the floor, my back pressing against a cabinet. “That’s not what I want to do,” he says, but that doesn’t mean that’s not what he’s doing. He’s ending this and he’s doing it over the phone. “I love you. I love you so goddamn much, but I don’t know how to do this anymore. How to juggle all these different balls and win.”
“Are you seeing someone else?” I ask because I have to know.
“Because I don’t understand this,” I half-yell.
“I need you here with me and you’re there. Still. And that doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. Does it?” he accuses. “You left. You picked a job in California and I supported that. I support you and your dream, but what about me? What about what I need from you?”
“I told you, a year.”
“Right. And then it will be two. It’s been more than five months and you haven’t even mentioned anything to me about moving here. You’re just as busy as I am. You’ve only come here a few times. You hardly ever call. We never manage to fucking Facetime. I don’t know, Lee. Tell me what to do. Because I seriously do not know anymore.”
“So, you’re ending this?” I ask again. “You’re giving up on us just like that?”
“No,” he says, his voice growing flustered. “But I hate disappointing you. It eats me up inside. I hate knowing that when I don’t pick up your calls or I don’t text you back for hours that I hurt you. I hate not seeing you every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes at night or in the morning. I hate canceling on you time and time again because there isn’t enough time to fly across the country and back and still get my shit done. I hate this relationship that is nowhere near a real relationship.”
“I hate that, too,” I admit, drawing my knees up to my chest and wrapping an arm around them, trying to make myself as small and unexposed as I can.
“I know you do, baby. You’re just better at this stuff than I am. You battle your stress better. You’re pure light, bright, beautiful, and together. I’m the opposite of that. I feel like I’m drowning. Like I forgot how to swim and I’m stuck in the middle of the ocean.”
“So, pick one job instead of doing two.”
“I can’t,” he bites out harshly, his cadence shifting in an instant. We’ve had this conversation before. “I can’t abandon my father or his company. I’m getting too much from it. Learning too much. He needs me and I like that. I like being important to him and the company that he built. But I also can’t leave Cane and Trav. They need me and I love what we’re growing. It’s incredible to watch and be a part of.”